


Lilies & Chrysanthemums

by KissMyAsthma



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Aziraphale is a funeral director, Aziraphale is a mess, Aziraphale runs a funeral home, Crowley Has Long Hair (Good Omens), Crowley is a florist, Crowley is organising Ligur's funeral, Death, F/M, Getting Together, Human AU, Ligur is Crowley's half-brother, Ligur's dead, M/M, Meet-Cute, Newt is a PROFESSIONAL here, Newt is an embalmer, No Angst, No Plot, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Referenced Death, Thanatopraxy, a lot of referenced death it's a funeral au y'all, funeral au, just these two getting together, no angst except for Gabriel being a dick towards his brother, not DEATH just death as in dead people
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:01:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28016649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KissMyAsthma/pseuds/KissMyAsthma
Summary: One of them was a funeral director, the other was a florist - can i make it any more obvious?Aziraphale runs a family business- a funeral home. One day at work he encounters Anthony Crowley, who needs to organise the funeral of his half-brother. As it turns out, Crowley is a remarkable florist. And what of it?In the background, we see Newt Pulsifer - a professional in what he does, an expert in his field. Too bad most people don’t hold any appreciation for his skill when it comes to forming a relationship with the embalmer… Is this why he chooses to speak in half-truths with a lovely girl that chats him up in a cafe?
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 37
Collections: Good Omens Human AUs





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for stepping by!  
> Here's my Funeral AU that nobody asked for.  
> SO so much thanks to @leukozyna and @AppleSeeds for the beta-ing and all the help - the talking, putting up with my overthinking, and, well, everything. Thank you both so much, you're amazing.  
> Mistakes of any kind are wholly my own fault (that's why the notes are full of them lol)
> 
> Cw: funerals. Speaking of dead people. If it bothers you, maybe it's safer not to read.

“Mr Fell, you were nothing short of an angel,” Deidre Young said. ”Thank you so much, I know it's just your job to take care of all this stuff, but really..” she trailed off.

“My dear, it's not only a job, but also basic human decency! I really hope Mrs Tyler will get better soon.” 

“Oh, surely! We've already been talking about setting a seance!” Tracy smiled and made a shooing gesture at Deidre. “Well, anyway. Off you go, Deidre!”

“Yes, well, Mrs Tyler is waiting outside, so I’d best be going... thank you once again Mr Fell.” the woman squeezed Aziraphale’s hand and left. 

When she left and Aziraphale looked at Tracy with a tightly pressed mouth, it was hard to say if it was disapproval or if he was simply trying his best not to smile.

“A seance, my dear? Already? Really, the devil works hard, but you work harder.”

“Ah, Mr Fell, you flatterer!” Madame Tracy cooed.

Aziraphale was about to point out something about letting the souls of the dead get to the other side before trying to look behind the veil, but suddenly the door opened and a tall man dressed in black entered the office. 

Seeing the incomer, Aziraphale felt like he was punched in the gut - because it does not often happen that you see someone with such a striking appearance. 

What caught Aziraphale’s attention first was the man’s hair; long, rusty red, absolutely lavish locks that nearly reached past the man’s breastbone. The top portion of it was tied in a little bun, and there was also a single braid, tucked behind the man’s ear, exposing a tiny tattoo next to it. And as much as the red hair was stunning, it was also in a complete disarray - the kind where you couldn’t tell if the man had just woken up or if he had messed his hair up with his fingers.

The man had fancy dark glasses, sitting on his large, distinctive nose. His sharp cheekbones and defined jaw made Aziraphale believe he was looking at a model. 

And the legs of this man... Aziraphale wished that HE was the one wearing sunglasses - then he could ogle the ginger shamelessly, but given the circumstances, he only allowed himself one lingering gaze. 

Mr Fell was used to people wearing black, but their outfits very rarely looked so put together. The perfectly-tailored blazer worn over a grey henley was probably designer.

The silver scarf seemed to be a peculiar fashion choice, but it really accentuated the man’s collarbones. With his black, shiny, snakeskin shoes he looked ready for a catwalk.

“Um, hi,” the incomer said, looking around. He sniffed and then focused on Aziraphale. “I need to bury my brother.”

Aziraphale took a second to snap out of the gay trance that made him think about how he’d love to run his fingers through the man’s hair, and within the next moment he resembled the professional he usually was.

“Oh, my deepest condolences. Please, have a seat,” Aziraphale said and pointed to a chair next to the desk. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Tracy giving him a little wave before she left. “What’s your name, and the name of your brother?”

“Crowley, Anthony Crowley, me. The dead one’s name’s Ligur, Lucas Ligur,” Anthony Crowley said after he sat, or more like splayed himself out in the chair.

Clearly, the man didn’t care much about propriety.

Mr Fell hummed, dutifully writing down both names in his notebook. He decided it would be best to focus on arranging the transportation of the deceased, and not on the deceased’s brother's pretty face.

“Where’s your brother right now?”

“At home, they found him at home.”

“Did the coroner..”

“Yeah, yeah, Shadwell, the old bugger saw him. Got me the paper, my cousin took it to the registrar and they’re getting the death certificate.” 

“I see. Very well, Mr Crowley, in the meantime-”

“Just Crowley, please.”

“Oh. Oh, of course, Crowley. As I was saying, we shall arrange the transferring of the deceased. Is anyone home, so our staff could move the body?”

“Ah, shit, no, what now?” the redhead frowned.

“That’s not a problem; we’ll discuss the burial details, and then, when you go back home, we’ll send somebody to collect your brother,” Mr Fell said with what he hoped to be a reassuring smile.

The tall man nodded, scrolling through his phone while Aziraphale collected his funeral notebook and his thoughts; it was highly inappropriate to think about the ginger’s striking appearance, especially when the poor thing had just lost his brother.

“Have you considered how you would like to bury your brother? In a coffin, or maybe you’d like to cremate him?”

“Cremation’s the quickest way, innit?”

“You have to be mindful of the fact that you need to get your brother’s GP to sign the cremation form number 4. Next you should contact another medical practitioner and get them to sign form 5, and...”

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” the man groaned, “I’m not gonna run about the bloody clinic just to get the fuckhead burned! Do I have to do all of this if I’d like to bury his body?”

“No, all I need for a traditional burial of your brother’s body is his death certificate.”

“Great! It’s settled, then.”

“Of course. In that case, I believe you should choose a coffin for your brother.” Aziraphale said, standing up from his chair and taking his notebook in his hands. “Please, follow me.”

Mr Fell showed Crowley to the coffin exposition room, and he could swear the man paled a bit. The pale skin contrasted with his red hair and black glasses beautifully, and Aziraphale had to give himself a mental kick for objectifying the man yet another time - especially when the poor dear was visibly disturbed by the sight of the coffins. Aziraphale really needed to focus on his job.

“What are you looking for? The most imposing option, or the cheapest one?” Mr Fell asked, assuming by the look on Crowley’s face that the man was skimming through the coffins and caskets with his eyes; It was hard to tell for sure since Crowley was still wearing his dark glasses.

“The hell do I know,” the redhead murmured. “I don’t know, how am I supposed to know?” the man said to himself, shoving his hands inside the very small pockets on his black jeans.

The man seemed exasperated, or maybe simply overwhelmed. Aziraphale wished he could comfort him somehow, but there was something about the man that made Mr Fell keep his distance; maybe it was the glasses? The dark glasses made him unapproachable in some way, Aziraphale thought.

“I’m afraid I can’t choose for you,” Aziraphale said quietly. “If you wish, we can wait with this until the cousin you mentioned before arrives here,” he offered, and Crowley frowned.

“Yeah, no, I don’t think they’d be much help,” the redhead sniffed, and both men spent a moment in awkward silence.

“Alright, ugh, fuck this, let’s take this one!” the man slapped the lid of the coffin next to him.

It was quite an adequate choice, Aziraphale thought to himself. It wasn’t the usual oaken coffin; it was cherry wood. It was a simple and elegant thing, hexagonal with mostly straight lines and just the tiniest adornments on the edges.

“Very well. Please, take into consideration that it is not a low-budget option, so…” Aziraphale started to explain but the man stopped him right away.

“No, no, I don’t want you to think that I’m trying to keep it cheap. I didn’t like the guy, it was just my half-brother and uh, we didn’t get on well, but I want him to get buried in a proper way, y’know? It doesn’t have to be low-budget, it has to be done with all the respect that I didn’t have for him.”

“Oh, Mr Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed, sticking a post-it note with the name ‘Mr Ligur’ written on it on the lid of the coffin. “As you wish.”

The redhead exhaled slowly.

“I meant it, just call me Crowley,” the man asked, and Fell was suddenly hit with a realisation that he could be unintentionally misgendering Crowley.

“Oh! Oh, I’m profoundly sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed!” Aziraphale rushed to apologise, but Crowley just smiled.

“No, it’s not that, I’m fine with masculine titles, it’s just that I don’t like such formal settings, it stresses me out,” he admitted, shrugging when he saw Mr Fell’s surprised face.

“But I believe it is a formal setting,” Aziraphale considered this thought for a moment. “But of course, if you’d be more comfortable with that, we could get on a first-name basis,” the man proposed.

“I’d like that,” Crowley said and offered his hand. “Anthony J. Crowley. But please, call me Crowley.”

Aziraphale took the ginger’s hand and shook it, trying to keep his pounding heart under control.

“Aziraphale Fell. Please, call me whatever you like.”

When Aziraphale’s brain registered what he’d said it was too late. Crowley was already grinning, but at least he was looking less tense.

“That’s one unusual name you have,” the redhead noticed, slowly walking out of the coffin exhibition room. Aziraphale couldn’t do much else but follow him back to the office (maybe stealing just one look at Crowley’s swaying hips), where he sat back behind the desk, and flexed the hand Crowley shook. He could still feel the man’s warm, firm grip on his hand, but it really wasn’t the time nor the place to develop a crush.

“Ah, yes, religious family, I’m afraid,” Mr Fell belatedly answered.

“It’s not bad, though definitely a mouthful.” This Crowley man seemed to take up the subject again, and suddenly he seemed to be way less pale and way more interested than he had been just a few minutes before.

“Yes, I’ve heard that before,” Aziraphale smiled sheepishly. “Crowley, do you know where your brother wanted to rest? Because the closest burial ground is, obviously, Tadfield Cemetery, but maybe you have something else in mind?”

“I don’t have anything in mind right now, to be honest,” Crowley laughed nervously. “I guess the local cemetery is fine.”

“Does your brother have any relatives buried on Tadfield’s? Because interring him in a preexisting grave could lessen the costs, and, obviously, it takes away the issue of designating a new space.”

The redhead looked at him open-mouthed. Then he slowly scratched his neck, as if in consideration.

“I guess his father is buried there?” The man asked more than he answered, but Aziraphale couldn’t blame him – after all, it wasn’t expected of him to know such details.

Mr Fell nodded enthusiastically, “That would be good! However, please, keep in mind that reopening the grave requires the holder’s approval. If you don’t know who the holder is, or you don’t know how to reach them, it might be easiest to just assign a new space,” the man clarified.

Crowley lolled his head, somewhere between frustrated and helpless. “Arghh, do I really need to know all of this?”

“Well, I am obliged to inform you about your options.” Aziraphale wrote something down in his notebook. “By your irritation I assume it is your first time? Arranging a funeral, l mean?” 

“Yup,” Crowley said, popping the p, “And as you can see, it’s not going great.”

Aziraphale frowned. “Why would you say that? You’re doing great, you’ve told me everything I needed to know so far, and you’re perfectly coherent!”

“Perfectly coherent, huh? Isn’t that an achievement!”

“Oh, you’d be surprised. I’m used to seeing people in very different emotional conditions, and sometimes it’s not easy to talk them through the whole procedure ” With one confession, came the next one. “Sometimes they’re really mean, sometimes aggressive. Anyway…” Aziraphale sighed. “This is not the time for complaining. Moving on - What about the funeral service? Was your brother religious?”

The redhead man barked with laughter.

“Ligur! Religious! Hell no, he didn’t give a shit about this stuff.”

“I see. I understand that you’d prefer the Master of Ceremonies over a rabbi, or a priest?”

Crowley sighed and licked his lips, deeply in thought. Aziraphale couldn’t help but look at the man’s lips, and he wished they’d met in different circumstances. If he had a chance to kiss this gorgeous man, to grab his lush hair and bring him closer…

Oh, really!, Aziraphale chastised himself mentally. Stop lusting after your client, you’re here to help him, you oversexed bastard!

“What do people usually do in this situation?” Crowley asked, snapping Mr Fell out of his mental scolding. “Are there any other options?”

“Well, non-religious burials happen, obviously. The most common practice is hiring the Master of Ceremony, however sometimes people prefer to lead the service themself. This, obviously, can lead to some unprecedented situations, but…”

“Alright, alright.” Crowley ran his fingers through his hair, and Aziraphale followed the move with his eyes. God, how he wished he could do that…

“Who’s the Master of Ceremony here? Or do you bring them over from somewhere else?”

“Do you remember the lady that was here when you came in? Marjorie Potts sometimes leads the services, when the deceased was… I’d say, an atheist or pagan-leaning. For others, Mr Young sometimes fulfills this role .”

Crowley seemed to be pondering, his hand under his chin, his fingers slowly caressing his neck – as if he was unaware of the other man in the room, and how said man was watching his every move with both lust AND utter respect.

“What happens when one hires an MC? Do they come up with something on their own, or do I have to write some kind of, oh hell, speech, or anything?”

“It’s really up to you. Usually, you’d tell the MC a bit about your brother, maybe something that you’d like to include in the speech, maybe some of his life achievements, maybe some of your shared memories, and they’d take it from there.” Mr Fell explained.

“Ligur and life achievements… As if!” Crowley scoffed, and then he looked at Aziraphale. “So, what do you say, Aziraphale? Should I hire this lady Potts, and let her talk over-glorified bullshit about my hopeless half-brother?”

“Crowley, dear, I really can’t decide for you.”

“But you’re a professional! You know everything about this stuff!”

“But I am not you. Mr Ligur’s not my relative, and I simply cannot choose for you, Crowley.” Aziraphale said. “I know it’s hard, I really know. But it’s the last thing you’re doing for your brother, Just think about what he would appreciate.”

“He’d probably want people to fuck off and let him rot in hell in peace,” Crowley said, tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear. “But you’re probably tired of me already. Alright, let’s get this MC you were talking about. Is there anything more to settle?”

“I have to consult Tracy – that is, Marjorie Potts – about this funeral. And, obviously, the cemetery administration. If I am up to date, there’s a free date in three days…” Aziraphale pondered, and scratched something in his notebook. “Will you bring Mr Ligur some clothes from his home, or would you like to buy a complete ensemble here?”

“I doubt he owns a suit.”

“It doesn’t have to be a suit, it might be any piece of clothing that you find appropriate. Sometimes people-„

Aziraphale was stopped by the office door opening and by the entrance of a short, scruffy looking person.

“Beez, good, do you have the paper?” Crowley asked the newcomer.

“Fuck the bureaucracy,” the person called Beez said as they slapped the big envelope down on the desk. “Motherfucking piece of shit Ligur fucking off out of here and leaving us with his bullshit-„

“As much as I understand your frustration with our local registrar, there’s really no need for this kind of language,” Mr Fell chastised. “Please, have a seat. We were just talking about-”

Beez rolled their eyes. “Yeah, whatever, don’t care, it’s Crowley’s problem now,” they said as they dropped onto the chair.

Crowley patted his cousin’s hand. “Thanks, Beez.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Beez groaned.

Aziraphale cleared his throat.

“As I was saying, clothes for Mr Ligur. You can get him something from his house or you can buy it here. If you have any special wishes as to the way Mr Ligur should be dressed for the viewing, please tell me now. If Ligur used to wear glasses, or make up, or anything – please tell me about it, so I could let it be known to our layer-out.”

Crowley sighed deeply, sniffed and then looked at his cousin. “What do you think, Beez?”

“Told you, don’t know, don’t care.”

“You’re no help,” the redhead complained.

While the cousins were busy bickering, Aziraphale took his time to message the cemetery administrator to notify them about the scheduled funeral. Next, he looked across his notebook to check the arrangements. It seemed that all that was left was obituaries and the flower arrangements. He could ask about the music tribute, but from what Crowley had said so far about his brother, it didn’t seem that it would be necessary.

“Very well. Crowley, I have to ask you to sign the capacitation to transfer your brother’s body,” Mr Fell said, preparing the documents. He slid a few sheets of paper towards the redhead. “I need your signature here, here and… here!” the man pointed to the appropriate places on the different papers.

“You were talking about bureaucracy, Beez?” Crowley prompted, sliding off his dark glasses and leaning across the desk to sign the papers. In that quick moment, Aziraphale caught just a sliver of the man’s pale brown eyes.

“I’m afraid this is just the beginning of it,” Aziraphale murmured sympathetically. “Will you be needing any extra obituaries? To put them on the door, or a fence maybe?”

“No, nope, I don’t think so.” Crowley cocked his head up and looked at Aziraphale, for the first time without the barrier of his dark glasses.

Aziraphale very nearly stopped breathing.

Anthony Crowley had the palest brown, almost golden eyes, spotted with even lighter specks. It turned out that his glasses concealed a great deal of freckles under and around his eyes, along with quite a few of crow’s feet.

He was absolutely gorgeous and Aziraphale was absolutely done for.

Mr Fell had to brace himself and take a deep breath before he could continue.

“Moving onto the floral arrangements, we have a friendly florist who specializes in funeral tributes, she’s supposed to wind up her shop, but I’m sure that the dear lady would take one more job before going out of business-”

Aziraphale felt he was rambling, saying just anything to keep himself from speechlessly staring at the redhead’s eyes, his beautiful face, his lovely big nose and lovely thin lips -

“Nnnyeah, no, none of that.”

“Oh?”

“I’m doing my own floral arrangements. A florist, me.”

“Oh, I see. Very well then. I take it, then, that you’ll bring your floral tributes to the funeral? Or would you like to bring them to the viewing first?”

“Not sure if there’s a point,” Crowley pondered. “I don’t think there will be lots of people at the viewing.”

“Yah, I don’t think anyone will want to see him,” Beez snorted a laugh. They seemed to be a tad more relaxed now, here, with their cousin. “Anything else?”

“I believe we have most of the things arranged,” Aziraphale smiled. “Now I’ll ask you to go home, so our mortuary removal technicians could go and collect Mr Ligur and transport him to our mortuary.” Mr Fell raised his hands “Oh! One more thing. As the closest relative, you can apply for the Funeral Expenses Payment. It helps with covering the costs of the funeral related issues – like digging out the grave, for example.”

Crowley cocked his brow. “And, let me guess, it involves a ton of paperwork?”

“Unfortunately, it takes a moment to fill out the form, and with Mr Ligur being your half-brother, it’s possible that your Birth Certificate would be required – to prove you and your brother’s connection. But, in the long run, it lessens the cost of the funeral.”

The redhead sighed loudly. “Ehhhh, you know what, I don’t need that. I’ll pay for Ligur’s burial on my own,” the man said as he stood up. “Thank you for your help, Aziraphale.”

“That’s just what I do,” Mr Fell smiled as he took a second to enjoy one last flash of pale brown eyes before Crowley put his glasses back on his nose. “Ah, and I have to ask for your phone number – so I can let you know if the MC situation is sorted out, and in case anything else comes up,” the man explained.

The redhead looked like he was about to say something, but he bit his tongue last second. Instead, he recited his number for Aziraphale to write it down in his notebook.

“Great, thank you. And, if you’ll need anything, or shall you have any questions, don’t hesitate to call me.” The next moment, Aziraphale was giving Crowley his business card.

“Anything, you say?” Crowley grinned, twirling Aziraphale’s card in his fingers. “Well, that’s quite a temptation.”

Aziraphale felt his cheeks going pink, but before he managed to say anything, Beez was tugging on their cousin’s sleeve. “Shut up, you charmer, we still have things to do. Thanks, Fell,” they said and they were already on their way off, with Crowley trailing behind them.

“Bye, Aziraphale!”

Mr Fell nodded them goodbye and busied himself with stacking his papers while he was seeing his clients off. As soon as the door behind them closed, the man exhaled slowly.

“Good lord,” Aziraphale murmured to himself. “Get a grip, Aziraphale, you can’t lose your head every time you see a handsome guy.”

“Yeah sunshine, that’s most unbecoming of you, especially at work!” a loud voice boomed, startling Aziraphale, and within the next moment Gabriel Fell entered the office.

“Gabriel! To what do I owe the pleasure?” Seeing his brother was as far from a pleasure as it could be possible, but, obviously, that was not something Aziraphale would make known – especially not to said brother.

“I have to check on you, don’t I?” Gabriel laughed with the laugh of men experiencing the hardship of being married to a woman he had proposed to. “Still wearing your beige clothes, I see..? It’s really inadequate for you, you know that?”

“Oh, Gabriel, just because it's a funeral business, it doesn’t mean I have to wear all those dark, somber clothes,” Aziraphale tried to laugh it off.

“I didn’t mean that,” the man gestured at the office, “I meant THAT,” he said, pointing to Aziraphale’s stomach. “You shouldn’t wear light colours, they add up to your stomach!”

“Oh,” Aziraphale deflated. “But I like them.”

“Either freshen up your wardrobe or lose the gut, sunshine!” Gabriel beamed, and he was already on his way out.

“Wait! Wait, Gabriel, could you please fetch White and Raven, we have a transportation-„

“Sorry, not my department!”

“And I was hoping you’d be able to handle the priest for Mrs Blair's funeral- “ Aziraphale said and heard his brother’s groaning.

"For God's sake! And why can’t you do that, again?”

“You know he has some kind of a problem with me-”

“It’s not some kind of a problem, sunshine, it’s that you flaunt yourself!” the older of the Fell brothers explained.

Aziraphale gaped and for a moment he was lost for words.

“Wha- Gabriel, I am not FLAUNTING! I am allowed to be gay, for fucks sake!”

“Language! Besides, if you really must, then alright be gay, but you shouldn’t be so open about it!” Gabriel said, as it was the most obvious thing on earth. “It’s bad PR!”

The man smiled, apparently content with his words. “Bye, sunshine, I’ll talk to the priest later”.

And, with these words, he was out.

He really just came here to work me up and then fuck off again, Aziraphale thought to himself.

For someone whose tasks involved everything related to running the business – not only having to handle the clients, but also the suppliers, and everything in between, including the on-call duty – and being quite good at it, Aziraphale Fell was quite hopeless when it came to dealing with his brother. The brother, it needed to be said, who made Aziraphale do all the work but didn’t respect any of it. Not to mention Gabriel guilt tripping Aziraphale into taking up the family business, instead of focusing on his dream of running a bookshop.

Aziraphale put his hands on his face, pressing the palms into his eye sockets until it hurt. He really didn’t want to start spiralling – he was tired, and not in the mood to be an emotional wreck.

He sorted out all the papers and the documents that laid on the desk, then he formed the obituaries. After doing this, the man decided he was done for today.

He had to ask Raven and White to go collect Mr Ligur, obviously, so he’d have to visit the staff room before leaving. Oh, and he should let Tracy know about the service!

Trying to call Tracy ended up with his call getting declined. Aziraphale huffed and started scrolling through his contact list to find Tracy’s cafe landline number, but before he managed to actually find the number, he got a message from Tracy, inviting him for a cuppa after work to talk.

Well, I could certainly use that, Aziraphale thought, as he walked to the staff room. Entering the room, he found Raven and White playing cards. He gave them the details of the transportation of Mr Ligur’s body and shipped them off.

To wrap up the working day, he decided to check up on Newt next.

The sickly sweet smell of disinfectant made Aziraphale scrunch up his nose and breathe through his mouth – but it didn’t help much, because some paranoid part of Aziraphale’s brain made him afraid that he was breathing in human remains. However irrational the thought was, it still appeared sometimes, even after all the years Aziraphale had spent working in this place. The white tiles and light from the multiple lamps made a combination that was almost blinding for Aziraphale when he entered the Cold Office - as he used to call the place where Newt took care of the deceased.

“Newton, everything alright?”

'Eden’s' funeral visagist, layer-out, embalmer and thanatopracticioner looked up from the chest cut he was sewing together, “Yeah, all’s alright Mr Fell.”

“I understand that you’re staying late today, and you’re gonna close up?”

“Sure thing! It’s just I wanted to get Mr Brown ready for tomorrow, because you told me that his family had a viewing in the morning.”

“Yes, that’s correct. Well then, I’ll be going. Please remember to put the coin and the handkerchief in Brown’s pocket, his wife asked to do this. Have a pleasant afternoon, my dear boy.”

“Thanks, boss, same to you!”

With this, Aziraphale left Newt; he went to get his coat from the wardrobe, and then he was on his way to Tracy’s.

As he exited the building, Aziraphale was hit with probably the last bright rays of sun that year - it was October, and the weather was turning more and more gloomy, so it was only right to seize the last snatches of sunshine - especially since they were glimmering beautifully between the yellow leaves. The man took a deep breath - he could really use a walk right now, but what would be even more useful for him was surely a cup of tea, and maybe a bite of something sweet. 

Appreciating the autumn leaves and the way the sun was flickering between them, Aziraphale enjoyed his quick walk to ‘Shangri-La’ - Tracy’s cafe, and the place that at times held her seances.

Aziraphale always considered his friend Tracy to be an absolutely unique personality- not only because of her extravagant interests, but also because of the way these interests of hers had found a way into her everyday life. Because it wasn’t every day that you could meet a Master of Ceremonies that ran a business - a cafe, no less - that also openly talked about her work as a part-time medium. And as ridiculous as it could seem to be, Tracy made it work and she made it work well - similarly to her vividly colourful, flowy dresses that should clash with her dyed, orange hair, but instead they just looked very… Tracy. 

And if it wasn’t enough for her larger than life personality, she also lead her life with a person that seemed to be the least suited for her - coroner Shadwell, a grumpy, unpleasant man who frequently made homophobic remarks about Aziraphale. 

What Tracy saw in this dreadful man, Aziraphale couldn’t understand, but as long as his friend was happy, he would not say anything. Thankfully, Mr Fell and Mr Shadwell rarely met - the most Aziraphale saw from Shadwell was usually just his signature under the papers that were needed to order a burial. 

And it was more than enough. 

Aziraphale entered the cafe, letting a draught of cold, autumn air inside, and making the wind chimes jingle. He noticed a few people, but the place wasn’t very busy - for which Aziraphale was grateful, since he felt really mentally exhausted and buzzing of the people as the background noise was the only noise he could stand. 

He approached the counter, where Tracy was doing something that either was a quick palm reading or just really tender touching of someone’s hand. Seeing this, Aziraphale changed his direction and found himself at a table next to the window. He sat there, with his back to the door of the cafe, facing the counter - so he was sure Tracy would notice him as soon as he was done with her reading. 

As Tracy was busy with the elder lady, Aziraphale noticed some movement behind the counter, somewhere in the backroom. A moment later, a young woman emerged from the room, carrying a batch of scones that she began plating on the glass plate standing on the counter. 

Aziraphale eyed the woman curiously. He didn’t recall seeing her here before, so she must have been a new employee. She had dark, long hair and round, heavy rimmed glasses. What caught Aziraphale’s attention was the woman’s clothing - she was wearing a black lacy blouse with a high collar that was looking really old-fashioned - and because he himself liked old-fashioned clothing, he appreciated the woman’s taste. 

And even though he wasn’t into women, Aziraphale could say that the young woman was pretty - especially with her dark, attentive eyes and serious look. As she bustled around the corner, Aziraphale noticed her long skirt that looked like it could be full of pockets and secrets, and it made him think of witches. Yes, it took a moment to pinpoint what exactly came to his mind upon seeing the girl, but it was definitely witchcraft. 

Well, the witchy aesthetic was a good look on her, and it suited the place. Aziraphale wondered if it was possible that Tracy and her new employee shared their interest in the occult, and if yes - would that mean that they could start a coven? That was something witches did, right? 

His pondering was interrupted by Tracy coming to his table with two big mugs in her hand. 

“Oh, thank you so much, my dear,” Aziraphale said, taking the mug from his friend’s hands of what appeared to be heavenly smelling cocoa. 

“My pleasure! Anathema will bring us something to nibble on in the moment.” Tracy sat on the opposite side of the table, smiling at her friend.

“Anathema? That’s one unusual name.”

“Psh! You’re one to talk, Aziraphale!” the woman chided him, but without much bite to it. “Anyhow, Anathema is my friend’s granddaughter - you remember Agnes, don’t you, dearie? - And she’s a lovely young woman, very bright! She’s an occultist, too!”

“Oh? So I understand she’s here not only to work at the cafe, but to help you with your seances?”

“Not yet, but maybe in the future, who knows? So far she’s training herself in reading auras, and it’s going rather well, I must say,” Tracy was visibly proud. “Oh, here she comes!”

Anathema approached their table, a tray with the plates and slices of the carrot cake in her hands.

“Anathema, meet Aziraphale Fell. He’s my dear friend, and he runs the funeral parlour down the street,” Madame Tracy explained. “Aziraphale, you might expect visits from Anathema - she’ll be delivering the orders from now on.”

As soon as Anathema put down the tray on the table, Aziraphale stood up and offered his hand. The girl shook it with a smile.  
“Nice to meet you, Mr Fell. Tracy told me a bit about you, and your work,” Anathema gave a quick look to Tracy, who nodded encouragingly. “I’ll admit I had a chance to observe you as you were waiting for her, and let me tell you, you have an incredibly bright aura - considering the place where you work, it’s not something I’ve expected.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, taken aback by both the girl’s direct approach and the topic of auras. She sounded American, so maybe that explained her directness. “I'm afraid I don’t know much about auras, was my work supposed to influence my aura somehow?”

“That’s what I’d like to learn about more.” 

“Well, good luck with your studies, my dear.”

The next moment they noticed that a short line had formed before the counter, so Anathema went to serve the clients, leaving Aziraphale and Tracy to themselves. 

“Interesting young woman,” Fell concluded, sitting back in his chair and taking a mug in his hands. He took a sip of his cocoa and let out an involuntary moan “Oh, this is delicious! I have no idea how you do it, my dear.”

“The trick is to have liquor on hand while making cocoa,” Tracy winked at him. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it. And while we’re at the things you enjoy… I saw that you surely enjoyed the view of that ginger man today.”

“Oh good lord, Tracy, really,” Aziraphale scoffed, but he could feel his cheeks reddening. “If you want to talk about him, you better tell me if you’re available to lead the service for his brother’s funeral.”

“Yes of course, you know very well I’ll be available!” the woman downplayed the issue.”Oh but wasn’t he handsome? What’s his name?”

“Anthony Crowley. I told him to get in touch with you, about his brother’s funeral-”

“I bet you’d like to get in touch with him, wouldn’t you?” the woman teased, but Aziraphale wouldn't have it.

“Tracy, please! Find something different to poke fun at, because I’m really not in the mood!” Aziraphale cried, and he suddenly felt like he’d rather be home right now. When he’s alone at his flat, there’s nobody to make fun of him for being gay and starved for romantic attention- and even if Tracy’s digs were good hearted, they still hurt sometimes.

Tracy gave him a close look, taking a sip from her mug before she spoke:

“But I mean it, Aziraphale. It’d do you good to meet someone, and you clearly liked him-”

“Yes, my dear, but I don’t know if he’s into men! Plus, he’s my client, it would be way too awkward to approach him this way,” Aziraphale said, frowning. 

“Well I don’t see why you couldn’t ask him-”

“But I do,” Fell stopped her right there. “I don’t need another rejection, I feel miserable enough without it. Please, drop the subject, dear. Please.”

Tracy rolled her eyes.

“You can’t lock yourself up and then complain that you’re alone! You have to at least try being more sociable,” Tracy decided, and took a bite of her cake. “You can’t spend the rest of your life alone with your books.”

“Try to stop me,” Aziraphale mumbled, taking the example from Tracy and busying himself with the cake. 

As expected, the cake was delicious - enough to make Fell sigh deeply. The spices made it smell divine, it was moist but not too sweet, and the cream cheese frosting paired with the cake wonderfully. 

“This is really to die for, Tracy. Exactly what I needed," Mr Fell said, happy to focus on the cake instead of his miserableness.

“I’m glad you like it, dearie. I could ask Anathema to pack you a slice or two to take home?” Tracy offered.

“Oh. Oh, I really shouldn’t. I probably shouldn’t even eat this one,” Aziraphale looked guiltily at his plate, suddenly remembering his encounter with his brother.

Seeing his deep frown and the way he was eyeing his cake, Tracy connected the dots quickly.

“Gabriel again?”

“He said I shouldn’t wear light colours. Or that I should lose the gut if I really want to keep wearing them,” the man complained, nervously twirling the small fork in his hands.

“Look, Aziraphale. You should only do what you’re comfortable with. And first of these things should be stopping yourself from caring about your brother’s opinions,” Tracy said heartfully, and squeezed Aziraphale’s hand, stopping the movement of the fork. “Besides, you look lovely in your clothes. And I bet that your clients feel more comfortable talking to a person that isn’t dressed like a grim reaper,” the woman smiled, and Aziraphale let out a deep sigh.

“Thank you, my dear.”

“It’s alright, I know how Gabriel can get under your skin. Under anyone’s skin! What a dreadful man, really.” Tracy took a sip from her mug. “You should leave him to deal with this business. You’ve been thinking about a bookshop, haven’t you?”

“But I can’t!” the man cried. “You know how Gabriel is. Talking about family obligations all the time, what I owe to the family and that since I’m queer, and I won’t, direct quote, Produce Any Heirs,” these words Aziraphale spat out bitterly, “I should be working my ass off at this job til I still can.”

Tracy tightened her lips and shook her head. “You need to leave, Aziraphale. Or you need therapy. Preferably both,” she said in a serious voice. 

“Thank you very much,” Aziraphale huffed and busied himself with his cake.

Tracy gave him a pointed look, but she didn’t say anything more for a while. After she was done watching her friend’s distressed inner struggles, she emptied her mug in one sip and got up from the table. 

“Alright, Aziraphale. I think you should go home and get some rest. I’ll pack you up more cake - no discussion!” she said before Aziraphale even managed to open his mouth. “The package will wait on the counter, and if you don’t take it, I will be very cross with you.” 

Fell heaved a deep sigh, but he gave his friend a frail smile. “Thank you, Tracy.” 

“Take care of yourself, my dear,” the woman told him as she patted his arm and she went to take care of the clients.

Aziraphale was left alone with his thoughts and his cake.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do you know that joke about an embalmer and a witch walking into a bar?  
> Me neither.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, great thanks to my betas, @leukozyna and @AppleSeeds
> 
> please note CW: needles, mention of a car crash injuries.  
> Nothing graphic, I hope, it's just a bit of Newt's job.

Newt inserted the needle in the eyeball and slowly, very slowly pushed the piston of the syringe. He could see the eyelid convexing as he filled out the orb with botox. The man repeated the procedure on the other eye, then he wiped away the excess liquid that drained from the deceased’s eyes and put away the syringe. 

With the eyes ready, he took care of the make up. After putting on the base, he took a moment to choose the right pigment creams - and it didn’t take him long, because Mr Brown was a typical, middle-aged white man. He applied a bit of the more pinkish pigments on the man’s cheeks, chin and a bit on his forehead - just a smidge, to make the man look serenely asleep, not passed out cold and drunk.

He made sure to cover the bruise on the man’s jaw - the family really wouldn’t like the dark blemish- and brushed the powder remains out of his impressive moustache. After it was done, Newt removed the protective cloth from under the man’s neck.

All that was left to do was to place Mr Brown's possessions inside his jacket pocket, and the man was ready to be put away into the cold storage chamber. 

Newt locked the cold storage and set the correct temperature. Then he cleaned and disinfected all his instruments and utensils, the tray and the counter; he put all the disposables into the right bin, and finally took off his apron and gloves. 

As he was washing his hands, he was glad that Mr Brown was such a low maintenance case; he was as fresh as a dead person could be, and so the decay smell wouldn’t linger on Newt’s clothes and hair - and that allowed Newt to visit Madame Tracy to grab something to drink. He craved something sweet, and it was getting late, so the oversugared coffee wasn't an option - but maybe some cocoa? It was more Aziraphale’s style, but the idea actually sounded appealing to Newt.

Newt put on his jacket, grabbed his shoulder bag and checked the doors twice after locking them; when he made sure everything was alright, he went straight to Madame Tracy’s cafe. 

It wasn’t freezing yet, but it was starting to get chilly; Newt could feel the brisk wind maybe not biting, but nipping on his cheeks. The man started to regret not taking a scarf in the morning.

If he got home on time, he thought as he was walking, he could catch the Dr Who rerun - even though he had seen it many times already, Newt always enjoyed watching an episode or two, especially with the Tenth and Thirteenth Doctor. He could grab some cocoa from Tracy, and take out from that Thai place nearby, and when he got home, he should put on a wash…

With the plans for the evening forming themselves in his mind, the man entered Tracy’s cafe, making the wind bells chime; it was getting late, and the only visitor was a person writing something on a laptop furiously. Newt made sure to give them a wide berth - for some reason, electronic devices didn’t agree with him, and he was, maybe irrationally, worried that his bad luck with technology would mess up the person’s device - and he headed to the bar. 

He leant on the counter, waiting for Tracy to egress from the backroom, in the meantime eyeing the last of the scones that had been left on the glass platter. The scone had something- raisins? chocolate? - inside of it, and what exactly was the mysterious addition would be the integral part of the decision whether he should take it or not. 

Before Newt started to reflect deeper on the matter of raisins vs chocolate, a figure appeared on the other side of the counter. He turned to face Tracy and - 

He spotted a problem.

The problem being a woman that was definitely Not Tracy - she was younger, maybe his age, and she was stunning. Absolutely gorgeous.

And she was looking at him intently.

And he couldn’t utter a word.

“Hi, what can I get you?” the woman asked, watching him somehow curiously, and Newt felt his cheeks going red. 

Oh, what a disaster, he thought, trying to get his mouth to move in a way that produced something different than incoherent gibberish. 

The young woman smiled and tilted her head, squinting, as if she was trying to see something far away - or maybe her eyesight was really bad, her glasses looked kind of heavy - and as Newt felt her gaze move, he could finally speak - as if there was a spell broken, and if Newt possessed a bit more of brain power in this moment, he could even say he felt like the girl’s look had a magical ability to it, and she could turn his brain to porridge just looking at him… But that was something to debate some other time. 

“Um, hi,” Newt belatedly said, “Uhhhh…” 

Curse his brain for not being able to say something charming, something witty, something that could get the girl interested in him- 

“You have an interesting aura, you know,” the girl informed him, and it was strange enough to get his mind back on track.

“Pardon?’ he asked, not being sure if he even heard right.

“Your aura. It’s peculiar, unusual,” she answered, and somehow he managed to hold the gaze of warm, brown eyes. “I haven’t seen one like that yet.”

“Oh… That’s… That’s cool.”

She smiled again.

“You know what, I’m ending my shift in half an hour. I’m new in town. Why don’t you show me around, maybe tell me where a good place for dinner is?” she suggested, and Newt widened his eyes. 

“You’d- you’d like that?”

“Yeah, that’s why I proposed it in the first place,” she laughed, and oh god what a lovely sound her laugh was! And how her eyes twinkled, and she was absolutely gorgeous- 

“By the way, I’m Anathema.”

“Newt, my name’s Newt.”

“Alright, Newt. I’ll be done in a moment, would you like anything to drink while you wait?” Anathema asked, but Newt had already forgotten why he had originally come to Tracy’s, absolutely struck by the fact that a girl such as Anathema wanted to spend time with him. 

“I’m good, actually,” he informed her lamely, and Anathema didn’t probe - instead, she busied herself with wiping the counter.

“So, Newt, where are we dining tonight?” she asked, something playful in her voice, as if she wanted to see whether he would fluster again.

Surprising himself, Newt managed to answer without a problem, “Uhh there’s this place, they have great pad thai with tofu, so-”

“You’re a vegan?” Anathema cut him short, and Newt wondered briefly if there was a chance that there was a bad answer to this question and how likely he was to get it.

“Not really,” he admitted, “ I just don’t like meat very much, and a few years ago I saw a video about the chicken farms, and it really hit me - it’s awful what’s happening to the poor birds, I couldn’t stand watching that. Plus, there’s the whole environment business - and how the meat production makes it worse, especially beef produces a massive carbon footprint, and -” 

“An environmentally conscious guy… That’s hot.” 

The man blushed vehemently, but feeling like it’s too much he smiled crookedly, “You know what, I’m not sure if you’re joking right now or-”

“I am not!” Anathema assured. “I think it’s attractive when people know what’s happening around them, and how our everyday actions influence the bigger picture, the environment in general. Not to mention the meat industry! Ugh, I can’t stand people who say that “one person’s effort doesn’t matter”, or, worse, these shitheads that talk about how humans ate meat for millions of years and it’s a must for us- ”

“It's a generic excuse, and I feel like most people who say that can’t even cook, and they don’t even bother with getting groceries. Disregarding the fact that most people who claim to eat meat because it’s ‘natural’ and they’re ‘a hunter’ could never hunt more than a foiled chicken breast on a paper tray in a supermarket,” Newt grinned and tried to not look surprised with himself for uttering so much without a stutter… But it looked like he could actually talk to Anathema without an issue, and after getting overwhelmed initially, he felt quite alright around her. 

“Yes, exactly!” the girl beamed, “It’s so cool that you get it!” 

“Hey, do you need any help with that?” Newt asked, gesturing at the counter the girl was tidying, and he was graced with another smile from Anathema.

“That’s sweet of you, but it’s literally my job. And there’s not much to do, anyway. Just give me a moment and I’ll be done,” she said, with a wink leaving Newt to wait for her.

To say the young man was smitten was to say nothing. As Newt followed Anathema with his eyes, he was thinking that he couldn’t remember the last time he clicked with someone so quickly. And even if her witchy stuff, with auras or anything, was a bit bizarre, Newt could work with it - as long as she didn’t decide to sacrifice him to some eldritch gods, he was fine with it; actually, it was peculiar enough to interest him a bit, and he was hoping that getting to know Anathema more would bring him some more knowledge about her practice, and how-

Then he was hit with the sad realisation that as soon as he told Anathema what he did for a living, she’d probably lose interest in him- it wouldn’t be the first time when his job scared people off. Just because she was into… magick, New Age or whatever, didn’t mean she would be fine with death related stuff. 

He felt his face fall when he realised that, and he wondered briefly how statistically likely she would be to accept his job, considering that she seemed interested in witchcraft. But even if there was any correlation, correlation doesn't equal causation, right? Besides, statistically the owner and their dog have three legs each, so he could leave any statistics behind. 

As Newt was watching Anathema sweeping the floor both with a broom and her skirts, he pondered if there was any chance that a girl as lovely as her would date a guy who basically tends to corpses. Obviously, he knew very well he was doing much more - often he was the last chance for people to see their loved ones before burying them. He could reconstruct a skull - once, he had to deal with a guy who died in a violent car crash, and his family said that Newt was a miracle worker because their late relative actually resembled the person from the photos they supplied him with-but not everyone appreciated that.

He took care of everything that was needed to let people say their last goodbyes to their loved ones, and he was proud of what he was doing. Unfortunately, for some people death and tending to the deceased was still something taboo, something that scared them away and freaked them out… and it took its toll on Newt's relationships. The best cases, actually, were the ones where the other person just said that they couldn’t stand the fact that Newt would come back home and touch them, having been touching dead bodies just a moment earlier; some meaner ones said that Newt was a freak for doing what he did, and a weirdo and a pervert - and actually, Newt preferred not to go there.

The point was, he'd rather not admit to his job right away - but he didn’t like to lie, so maybe he’d just… omit some details. 

Bracing himself, he smiled sheepishly at Anathema, who was already wearing her coat - a blue-ish, tartan-ish thing, the right word to describe it was probably "vintage" - and she was looking like she was ready to go.

"Shall we?" the young woman asked, and so Newt gave her his arm and they walked out of the cafe.

Do you know that moment when you’re just chilling, you’re busy with your own life, but suddenly - you go back in time to when you were still in middle school, and you were reading something for your English classes, and you weren’t even really interested in it - yeah, such a great novel, a jewel of English literature my ass, you’d rather be doing literally anything else - but you’d read that thing, pass the test, if only to pass the year... anyways - you read it at some point in time, and you thought you’d forgotten it already, but then, suddenly, it comes back to you a decade later. 

_“A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, all the modern languages, to deserve the word; and besides all this, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or the word will be but half deserved.”_

Through the fog of time, Newt could remember reading Pride and Prejudice for his English classes. He knew it was a classic, but it really didn’t stick with him - when it came to reading, he preferred some Stephen Hawking over Jane Austen.

Right in this moment, however, Miss Austen came back to him as he was listening to Anathema and learning more about her. 

Anathema was brilliant.

She seemed to be everything.

Everything Miss Austen could expect of an accomplished woman. Everything the modern times could expect of an accomplished woman, too!

She had her degrees, she knew multiple languages, she possessed skills varying from managing people to knitting. Above that all, she dabbled in the occult. She was incredible.

And he, Newt, was completely and utterly in love. 

“... and so, when my mom told me about that grand-grand-something ancestor of ours, who happened to be a witch - and not just some witch, but The witch that wrote the only accurate book of prophecies - I decided I’d come to the UK,and maybe I’d get to know something more about her. Plus,” Anathema smiled cheekily, “what’s a better place to study the occult than England?”

“Honestly… I have no idea,” Newt answered truthfully, “But I think it’s a great place to start.”

“Absolutely! Especially that my grandma - Agnes, she’s named after that ancestor I’ve told you about - is a witch, herself.”

Newt stirred his tea, suddenly looking a bit unsure. “But… She’s not the kind of witch who turns people into frogs, right?” 

Anathema shot him a glare, but he raised his hands defensively “I’m asking seriously!”

Upon hearing this, Anathema gave up on her cold stare, instead plunging into an honest to goodness explanation.

“Modern witchcraft is many things, but the transformation of people into animals or objects is not one of them. For my grandma and me, it focuses mostly on work with energy - you know, there are different kinds of energy in the world, from sunlight and warmth through airwaves or brainwaves, to, obviously, the electromagnetic field-”

“And witches work with That?”

“Yeah! Well, not with brainwaves directly, obviously, but it’s all about energy - what you let out into the world, how you do it, and how you could try to change it! And, of course, modern witchcraft has many different paths - some more connected to religion, like Wicca, though there are Christian witches out there too, and there are different ways to practice witchcraft and magick - some connected to certain heritage, others not so much…” Anathema took a deep breath and laughed loudly out of nowhere. “Come on, Newt, there’s no way you’re interested in all of this.”

“Why not? Alright, I’m not planning to become a… a witch, or whatever the male version would be, maybe a warlock? But I think it’s interesting what you’re saying. I had no idea that witches are still alive and well in our times.” 

The girl propped her chin on her hand and she was just watching him with that intense, challenging stare of her. 

“Besides!, the young man ejected, “What if I’m actually a witchfinder that wants to know all your witchy ways to use them against you?” Newton asked, aiming to say it smugly and ominously.

“Then why are you telling me this?” 

“Well, it’s possible that i’m a rather rubbish witchfinder,” he admitted, and Anathema graced him with her delightful laughter. 

“Alright, but seriously, enough about me. Tell me something about yourself,” she prompted.

“There’s not really much to tell you… Not compared to you, for sure.”

“Oh, come on! Start with your job, maybe, what do you do for a living?”

This was the question that Newt dreaded the most - and if you thought he would come up with some elaborated deceit by now, you were wrong - he was way too busy being absolutely enchanted by Anathema to even think about it.

And so now, the young man stumbled… And averted his eyes… 

And only when Anathema knitted her brows, just a little, he decided to go for the thing the closest to the truth.

“I’m a makeup artist,” he said sheepishly.

“A makeup artist!,” the girl was looking pleasantly surprised. “Wow, that’s so cool! But you don’t exactly look the type… Though obviously, I know that stereotypes suck,” Anathema pondered. “How did you come to do that?”

“Well, actually, I’m really into computer science,” Newt started, making his converser raise her eyebrows at the sudden topic change. “But, here’s the thing… Computers explode when I touch them. Fine, maybe not explode - not every time, anyways - but I’m just atrocious when it comes to dealing with technology,” Newt started to explain, expecting Anathema to start mocking him at any point now. He braced himself for a moment when she opened her mouth to speak. 

“Do you know what an aura is, Newt?”

That was not what Newt was expecting. Neither was a gentle and knowledgeable smile on Anathema’s lips. 

“I do... not, no,” the man said, wondering where this was going. “I think there was something about different colours, but I don’t know what it is.”

“The aura is an electromagnetic field, a field that surrounds your body,” Anathema explained. “If you recall, I noticed there’s something different about your aura… Maybe it’s that? Maybe that’s the reason why technology doesn't agree with you!”

“Huh?” Newt asked eloquently.

“Yes, I mean it! Your own electromagnetic field probably doesn’t… Oh god, sorry for that word, but I don’t know what else to call it … Your aura doesn’t “vibe” with the electromagnetic field from the electronic devices! Maybe you should get some crystals… And probably, an energetic cleanse would be in order…” The young woman trailed off, suddenly taking her purse and digging inside of it.

Eventually, she drew something that she put on the table between them.

It was...a rock. 

Or, actually, it was a mineral.

Black, opaque and vitreous, with ragged edges… 

“Here, black tourmaline. I think you could try it,” the girl explained. “Obviously, it would be best to cleanse it first, and then maybe charge it…”

Newt looked like he wanted to say something, but he didn’t. Then he decided that actually, he should say that. “You know, I have no idea how to do anything you said with it.” 

“Oh right, of course!Alright, let’s do this like this: I’ll prepare the rock for you, maybe I’ll try to come up with some spell if you consent to that, and you could stop someday by the cafe to pick it up, what do you think?”

Anathema was so well-versed, so enthusiastic about it - Newt couldn’t say no to that, could he now? Even if he didn’t exactly believe in magick, maybe there was something to it, and it was worth a shot.

“That’s really kind of you,” the young man said, but Anathema rolled her eyes.

“I’m not kind, I’m just opportunistic. It’s a chance for me to practise, while being able to maybe help you.” 

Newton snorted a laugh, and Anathema glared at him.

“Yeah, you’re doing something to help another person, that’s being kind,” Newt argued. “Thanks for the effort by the way, I appreciate it.”

Upon hearing this, the girl smiled sweetly, “It’s no big deal, really,” she said, and for a moment, the young people sat in a comfortable silence. 

Anathema stirred her concoction, something with tea and various syrups and juices, and looking at her, Newt was pretty sure he could see blush on her cheeks. And she looked adorable with it. 

“Well….” Anathema started after a moment, “If that’s it, you’d better get my number, in case I’d like to let you know when you can pick up your tourmaline,” she said with a suggestive edge to her voice.

“Oh. Oh, yeah, I’d like that!” Newt exclaimed, distinguishably surprised, as he was searching his pockets to get his phone.

When he took out his smartphone and pressed the start button… Nothing happened.

“Damn, it really tends to give out at the worst possible moments,” he frowned, trying to make his phone work - and failing. 

The young woman bit her lip. “Well then,” she got another thing from her purse, “In that case, I guess we’re doing it the old-fashioned way.” What she retrieved turned out to be a pen.

She grabbed a napkin, wrote a series of digits on it and then slid in on the table, right into Newt’s hands.

“Call me, text me, whatever you’re comfortable with.”

As he folded the napkin and placed it securely in the inner pocket of his jacket, he had a look of utter bewilderment on his face - a look Anathema couldn’t really ignore.

“Why are you so surprised?”

“Su-surprised? I mean...Yeah…” Newt fiddled with the hem of his shirt, and then took off his glasses to wipe them with a tail of his shirt. “It’s just… Uh… Suddenly I’ve realised that you’d like to meet again and you’re so way out of my league and yeeaahh that’s it.” Apparently, it was easier for him to say genuine things when he couldn’t see his converser. “Feels good but also kinda surreal.”

He couldn’t stop the flushing on his face, so when he put on his glasses back, he just avoided his companion’s gaze.

Anathema was just about to laugh, but when she saw Newt's pitiful expression, she decided to smile sympathetically instead.

“Oh, Newt, we really have to work on your self-esteem, you know.” 

Upon hearing this, Newton decided that it is time for him to take the initiative and shoot his shot:

“So… How about, we could do it over dinner, Saturday perhaps?”

Unbeknown to Anathema, it took more courage for Newt to ask that than for him to call his doctor.

Anathema just grinned at him.

“Works for me.”

***

“Hellspawn’s asleep,” Crowley announced, descending the stairs. 

“Thank fuck,” Beez groaned, between one bite of their toastie and the other, their short legs propped up on a coffee table. “Tomorrow you’re taking him to work with you, I’ll have to sort stuff out… A special guardianship order, maybe? Ugh, I don’t know,” they frowned. 

“Maybe foster care? Or just adopt him, properly?” the redhead suggested. “Eric’s been basically living with you for a few years now, it’s just a formality-”

“Yeah, and the bloody formalities are the worst, Crowley! You should know that best,” Beez scoffed, but they handed him their glass, so Crowley could pour them some scotch. “Actually, why don’t you handle it? You’re a lawyer, for fuck’s sake!”

Crowley scowled, and didn’t grace their cousin with the answer until he had a grand drink of his liquor, “I WAS a lawyer, Beez, I left that shit behind me! Besides, I was in penal law, not the family one.”

“You’re fucking useless,” Beez murmured, stuffing their mouth with another toastie.

Crowley didn’t say anything; he sipped on his drink, considering their situation.

Technically, Eric was his nephew, so maybe Crowley should be the one to take care of guardianship of the boy. But the fact was that before Crowley came back home to help them, Beez was the one that handled the boy when Ligur was too out of it to even remember he had a son. It was only natural that the formal responsibility for Eric would be on Beez. 

“Was he here when they took Ligur?” Crowley asked suddenly.

“What?”

“Was Eric home when Fell’s guys came to take Ligur to the funeral home?”

“Yeah, so he could see his dead father?” Beez sneered at him.” ‘course not, Dagon took him to the playground.”

The redhead sighed, and splayed more comfortably on the couch, even though he felt tension in every single muscle in his body. “He’ll have to see him dead, sooner or later. He has to know that his father is gone.” 

Beez looked at him grimly. 

“And what good would it do?”

“Come on, Beez, he can’t think Ligur suddenly disappeared-”

“Wouldn’t be the first time he’s done that.”

“But he always came back, eventually. This time, he won’t.”

His cousin swallowed their whiskey and then fiddled with the empty glass for a while. “How do you explain death to a child?”

Crowley made some noises that didn’t exactly make up for an answer, and eventually he just shook his head. 

“Should’a asked Fell, he should know something about this stuff,” Beez suggested after a moment.

Their cousin rubbed his face with one hand and then rested his chin on it. “You know what, I just might.” Contacting the handsome funeral director was hardly a hardship for him, and Beez was right, Aziraphale could help him with their conundrum.

Crowley unconsciously reached into his pocket for his phone, but Beez smacked his hand away “Not now, you moron, it’s too late, he’s probably asleep.” 

“Alright, fair point.”

Beez reached for the whiskey bottle, but then thought better of it and instead they just lied back on the couch, their eyes closed, with their dark circles visible underneath. 

On the one hand, Crowley didn’t want to disturb Beez’s moment of peace, on the other hand, however - he couldn’t let them fall asleep here because their short spine wouldn’t appreciate it. 

“How’s things between you and Dagon?” the man asked out of blue, noticing his cousin’s scowl with satisfaction.

“None of your business,” they snapped.

“If she takes care of Eric when you’re not available, it kinda is. And I’d say it’s pretty serious.”

“Eric likes her, ‘s all.”

Crowley looked at Beez with a smug smile. “You like her too.”

Beez groaned and opened their eyes, looking back at him with an angry glare. “She annoys me less than others,” they said ambiguously, but Crowley grinned.

“Good enough for you, Beez.,” the man finished his whiskey. “But she’s gonna make Eric learn how to do accounting before he learns how to long-division, so there’s that-”

“Shaddap, asshole.”

Crowley only smiled fondly, and patted his cousin on their arm. “Alright Beez, come on, bedtime. We need to be rested tomorrow.”

Beez grumbled something under their breath, but eventually, they reluctantly got up from the couch. Giving one look to the messy coffee table, they decided to wash up the next day, 

“Eric has a pack of crayons and a colouring book in his backpack, remember to take it tomorrow,” they said offhandedly, stretching their tiny figure. “And if he gets bored, you can always let him play with your hair.”

The redhead touched the little braid in his hair with affection. “I’m sure we’ll find something to do tomorrow. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, go get some sleep.”

Instead of gracing him with an answer, Beez directed themself towards the staircase, but Crowley’s voice stopped them:

“And in case you have any problems with the registrar tomorrow, just give me a call.” 

Beez smirked. “Thought you weren’t in family law.”

“Am not, but I still have some tricks up my sleeve if needed,” Crowley said lazily, and then he bid his cousin goodnight.

“You too. And don’t give Eric donuts for breakfast, or I will kick your ass.” Beez’s voice called out from the staircase, not loud, but still acute.

Crowley felt his lips tug into a smile, and he decided to clean up before going to bed. It was the least he could do to gain his cousin's favour before inevitably losing it by feeding his nephew sweets tomorrow - after all, the kid deserved some indulgence in his situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> I'm looking forward to seeing your comments, if you have any.  
> Also, as mentioned previously - I'm not British; I tried to google what Beez could do regarding Eric's situation, and if I messed up something, I'm sorry!

**Author's Note:**

> When I was writing the summary I was like... Why are you asking these questions? trynna be interesting? trynna catch attention? fuck offfff u made it happen because of crowley's hair you fucking simp
> 
> I hoped you enjoyed it and you're at least a bit interested. 
> 
> There will be more Anathema and Newt in the next chapter! 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading.
> 
> And, sort of a disclaimer:  
> I actually researched how you organise a funeral in the UK. But then I was like - ffs it's not a tutorial it's a FANFICTION, so I mixed some details, omitted some others... Livin' la vida fanfiction.


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